


Old Haunts

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom/sub, Ghost Castiel (Supernatural), Graveyard Sex, Implied Vers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Public Sex, Student Dean Winchester, Sub Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Usually, Dean loves having a ghost for a boyfriend and a dom, but when Cas starts teasing him during Philosophy lecture? That's just damn awkward......and unspeakably hot.(I realized belatedly this should be tagged MCD since Cas is, ya know, a ghost...this is mostly PWP tho...)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 139





	Old Haunts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, I found another unposted story in my Google drive.
> 
> I have absolutely no memory of writing this. None. At all.

"Here?" Dean hissed under his breath, leaning closer over his notebook and scritch-scratching with his pen, as if attentiveness to his studies would shield him.

"Is that how you address me?" Cas' voice was a husky whisper in his ear, a voice echoing directly in his brain.

"Here,  sir ?" Side-eyeing his classmates, Dean reminded himself no one knew Cas was there, no one knew Dean dated a damn ghost, no one knew Dean's cock was thickening with anticipation, but it was hard not to freak out. Paranoia suggested everyone knew, everyone judged, and everyone was disgusted.

They'll think I'm deviant, twisted, crazy...

...God, that's hot.

"Yes. Right here. Right now. If you behave, the reward will be...lavish. But if you get caught..."

If Dean safeworded, if he said, "no, not here," Cas would stop, no question, and not judge him or punish him or even express disappointment.

A soft, gentle grip encompassed his dick, Cas' hand passing through Dean's jeans and boxers, touching sensitive flesh directly.

Stopping was the last thing Dean wanted, but... "I thought you were supposed to be helping me study, not distracting me during class..."

"I  am helping you," said Cas tauntingly. "I'll be reviewing your notes after class, and if they're not up to my standards, punishment will be...severe. Even more so than if you get caught." The grip on his cock tightened, compressed, squeezed. The periphery of Dean's vision dissolved into glittery motes even as arousal fired through him. "Now, get writing, boy."

Dean's pen had stopped.

Shit, what had Crowley been saying? He glanced up at the PowerPoint. Something about Kierkegaard. Dean scrawled a few words down and hoped he was on the right track.

"Yes, professor," Dean murmured, gathering himself with a slow blink.

Everyone is watching.

No. No one is watching, and if I pull this off - if I can be the sub Cas wants - today will end up  awesome .

Cas' grip slid down his length. Dean huffed out a breath, pen going still again; a ghost palm smacked, silent and stinging, against his cheek.

"The key point of the text is..."

There was an even rhythm to Crowley's boring-ass lecture, a tempo Cas matched with the smooth slide of his hand. Thank God there was a table over Dean's lap, preventing his classmates from seeing the ministrations of Castiel’s ghostly, invisible hand - the tented fabric shifting with every stroke. The page before him flickered in and out of focus as touches to Dean's cockhead, his slit, his perineum, his rim, dazzled him with contrasting pleasures. No human hand could do what Cas did - no mere mortal could drive him crazy so quickly. Castiel encompassed him, teased him, possessed him in every sense of the word, and Dean adored--

Nails raked his back and all touch ceased.

Dean had stopped writing.

Again.

Shit.

Biting back a deprived moan, Dean struggled to focus again. Long experience in dorm rooms meant Dean was excellent at keeping quiet normally, but with his blood burning and his ears ringing, it was nigh impossible to think about anything save Cas' ghostly plasma or whatever-the-fuck-he-was stroking Dean’s dick, rubbing at his hole, promising him everything, delivering just enough to keep him desperate.

Crowley was babbling about Sartre.

Dean struggled to write coherent sentences.

No touch returned.

Second by second, minute by minute, Dean's arousal calmed even as his shoulders tensed. Cas' presence was visceral, heavy in the empty air before him, and Dean knew,  knew , that they'd be resuming

any

moment.

Except that moment seemed to never,  ever come.

Thickness materialized with Dean's hole, instantly spreading him, pressing his prostate, and he gasped. His back stiffened against his chair. His hand stiffened around his pen. His cock stiffened in his pants. 

As quickly as it appeared, the touch vanished.

"Be silent," Cas snapped, biting the words into his ear. A burst of pain collided with the echoes of pleasure, dizzying him, as he struggled to hold onto the thread of the lecture.

"Right," he muttered, nodding at nothing. The girl sitting nearest him, a few seats down, raised an eyebrow at him and he managed what he hoped was a normal smile. Their eyes met and Cas' hand curled around the head of Dean's cock. His senses faded to nothing save the pleasure of stimulation and the absolute, utter need to appear unaffected.

"Uh...sorry, just checking your notes, thought I missed something."

"Oh! No problem, I--"

"No talking during my lecture!" Crowley interrupted, deceptively mild.

"Yes, boy, no talking in  my class, " echoed Cas. His grip tightened, and a tug flashed electric over Dean's senses. A tight grip clasped Dean's balls, a harsh contrast to growing pleasure as Cas stroked, stroked, stroked. Crowley's drawling voice made a dull backdrop to Dean's awareness and he focused as best he could on using letters to form words and sentences.

Nothing connected right in his head. The name "Heidegger" seemed overloud at the same moment Cas pressed into his body again, and Dean suspected he'd never again think of the philosopher without getting a hard on.

Who knew philosophy could be this hot?

Kant would be furious.

Bliss sparked through Dean's head, the thumping of blood in his ears finally, mercifully, drowning out Crowley's voice.

Close...I'm close, Cas...you have to stop, I'm gonna come, gonna come...

Pressure rubbed at his prostate, a tendril of ephemeral touch tickled into penis slit, and Dean forced himself to keep writing, to stay still, to control his breathing. His vision of the classroom faded to a brilliant glow, a blank echo of the PowerPoint display.

Can't...I can't...oh, fuck that feels good.

A huffing in his ear drowned out Crowley's voice, Cas faking aroused breathing because he knew it drove Dean wild.

Don't stop...don't stop...don't--

A blast of cold air swept across Dean's flesh, passed through his clothes, whooshed through the room so powerfully that papers flapped and a backpack tumbled to the floor.

Cas was gone.

Unshed tears rimmed Dean's eyes and he bit his lip to hold back bereft whimpers.

Fucking hell, Cas was an  asshole .

Maybe I should stop this...it's...extremely...distracting...

The very thought of Cas not returning was painful.

And they were only 15 minutes into the hour-long class.

A student raised a hand and asked about Freud, and the conversation that followed gave Dean essential time to gather himself, calm down, and review the gibberish of notes he'd taken. The girl nearby obligingly, though quietly now, tilted her book toward him so that he could quickly flesh out what he'd written into a semblance of utility. If Dean failed to take good notes, Cas would spank him black and blue and send him to bed hard. In life, he'd been a professor and inattentive students brought out Cas' vicious side; he delighted in taking out long-unspoken frustration on Dean's pale, tender backside.

And while that could be fun...

Something flicked over Dean's cock.

...Dean  had to come today.

Something brushed down his spine.

Crowley flicked to the next PowerPoint slide, jumping to Freud so he could answer the student’s question more thoroughly.

Something fondled Dean's balls.

God, this lecture was boring.

Something tickled at the back of his knee.

At least he had Cas to enliven the time.

Focusing on his notes was easier with Cas only lightly teasing him. Touches came and went, lightning fast, all over his body. Something tweaked his nipple, sucked at his tongue, brushed at his hair. Arousal simmered, a banked fire waiting to spring to roaring flames.

Time passed in fits and starts, one sentence seeming to linger forever, then Dean would blink and the topic would have shifted. His pen worked all the while, channeling what he heard into sloppily written words. Cas whispered in his ear, praise and filth, temptation and promises and threats. Dean floated through the minutes on a cloud of tempered bliss, waiting for the pleasures promised. He didn't need Cas' mutterings to know he was doing well, and he craved everything Cas offered him.

Soon...

He just had to get through class without giving himself away.

...so soon...

He just had to get through class without coming.

...so close...

"--right, Mr. Winchester?"

Reality snapped harshly into place, displacing vision he hadn't realized had fuzzed out. His limbs tingled and he forced his eyes to focus on Crowley, leaning casually over his lectern, leering as if he somehow knew  exactly what Dean had been up to.

"What was..." Fuck, his throat was dry, his voice gravelly. How had he gotten that  gone without even realizing it? He swallowed, licking his lips. "Sorry, what?" That was almost a coherent reply. It was the best Dean could manage with Cas still moving, taunting him with a twisted nipple and a moist lick over his cock.

Crowley smirked. "My apologies, I'm sure you have much more important things to do than pay attention during class. Bring me your notebook."

Aw, fuck.

Dean doubted he could stand, wasn't sure he could walk, and was absolutely positive that if he moved he'd betray his erection.

"I will review your notes, and if I find them wanting, you'll get a zero for the day. Or you can confess your inattentiveness and complete an extra assignment for me..."

Struggling for focus, Dean skimmed his gaze down his page. The words seemed disconnected and random and meaningless, and he was too gone to tell if that was because he'd actually written nonsense, or if he’d kept passable notes and was simply past basic reading comprehension.

" Now , Winchester."

If Dean did badly in class, he'd lose his scholarship, lose his TA position, probably get kicked out of the Master's program. Even admitting he’d been oblivious, and doing an extra assignment to catch up, would be a black mark against him. Crowley was on his damn thesis committee.

"Well, boy?" Cas taunted.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, finding it profoundly ineffective, Dean rose. The table shielded a covert adjustment of his package. He took up his notebook and slowly, deliberately, stepped down the row to the aisle leading to the front of the lecture hall.

A bell tolled that there were two minutes until the end of class.

How the hell had that happened so quickly?

"Stop dawdling, boy," said Crowley crisply.

"You heard him," echoed Cas. A crazy thought leant Dean stability, quelled his arousal, as he imagined that Cas had put Crowley up to this.

Hell...he might have...they  must have known each other when Cas was alive...

All eyes were on Dean as he set the notebook down before his professor. His heart pounded, fear and arousal burgeoning under the scrutiny. Blank expressions told him nothing of what his classmates made of him, what they saw, how much he betrayed. He felt flushed, sweaty, obvious; his nails dug into his damp palms as he struggled to control himself.

Cas brushed the slightest of mocking touches over his dick.

Crowley read through his notebook, scowl deepening as he turned the pages.

Asshole.

Dean wasn't sure which of them he meant.

"Very well," Crowley announced with anger. "These are...acceptable...but your handwriting is atrocious. Class dismissed."

Holy shit.

He'd actually made it.

Dazed, Dean walked his notebook back to his seat as the other students broke into pleased chatter, gathering their things. The room teetered and twisted...no, that was Dean, barely managing to walk in a straight line. Fortunately, no one was paying attention any longer, too interested in their own concerns. It was a damn good thing he didn't have to drive anywhere; there was no way in fuck-all he could pass a sobriety test.

"Very good, boy," Cas murmured in his ear as he packed his backpack. "Going to make you feel so good. Going to show you how much I appreciate your...attentiveness. Going to teach you a critical lesson about the importance of proper classroom comportment."

Dean was pretty sure...or at least really, really hoped...that was Cas-speak for "I'm gonna make you come your brains out."

Imagining hopefully what awaited him, Dean made his distracted way from the building. Cold water splashed his face. Blinking in surprise, he looked up as rain splattered over his cheeks, his hair, his shirt.

When the hell had it started raining?

Other students scattered from the bad weather, producing umbrellas, running with their heads scant covered by campus newspapers, or diving back into the building to wait for the downpour to resolve to a drizzle.

Bemused, Dean merely stood, trying to figure out how to proceed. Cas was silent, unhelpful, until sudden pressure wiggled against Dean's ass. Swallowing hard, closing his eyes, Dean was rocked by a tide of bliss.

"Cas...please..."

The pressure vanished. A hard something, like a plank of air, slammed his ass so hard he stumbled forward. Rain soaked his clothing, sliced down his back, dripped from his hair.

"...sir..." he whispered. Sweet, fresh water seeped into his mouth. "...I need..."

"Impatient..." Cas castigated.

His touch faded.

His presence vanished

Dean heaved a disappointed sigh. After all that effort, all that work, he'd still failed in the end.

The chill slowly dampening him through to his very bones matched his mood too well. Forlorn, he made his slow way across campus.

Normally, the school was nice, but in the rain it was bleak, dreary, and deserted. Signs pointed the way to different Halls and dormitories. Hedges blocked the view of nearby roads and parking lots, giving a secluded feel to the public walks. Dean took the turn into Memorial Garden, a shortcut to the grad student dorm, his gaze fixed on the ground to protect his eyes from the water streaming over his cheeks. Monuments to deans past looked like they were crying in the downpour

Dean slammed to the ground.

Blinking away stars, he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. Weight lingered over him, a statue of an angel above him weeping, wings dripping onto his face.

"What the--?"

"Shh," Cas hissed, as loud as Dean had ever heard him. Thick sheets of rain haloed in the air above him, forming a shimmering, shifting outline.

Dean's pants ripped open, drops splashing onto his rapidly hardening dick.

"Always wanted to try this," said Cas. Dean had no idea what he meant, but with ghostly touch stroking his erection it was impossible to care. The garden was empty, funereal, and that shouldn't be hot but somehow it was, just like getting teased to oblivion during class was, just like almost getting caught was, just like getting dommed, and spanked, and fucked silly by a damn  ghost  was. He struggled to focus, to compute, to understand, but concentration was elusive, comprehension impossible, as pressure solidified, embodied, and something invisible swallowed his dick.

The rain sketched the outline of a man.

Dean could see him, see  Cas , if only as a silhouette, for the first time.

Hand shaking, Dean reached out, the need to touch eclipsing everything, even the bliss of Cas' barely corporeal body surrounding him. A rivulet of water traced the line of a chin, and Dean's thumb ran over that line. The feel of Cas defied description, solid yet tenuous, chill yet heated, damned yet divine. A husky sound whispered from Cas, nearly lost in the susurration of rain on grass and leaves. Cas rarely bothered to manifest a body, even when he ostensibly bottomed, and was never powerful enough to be visible, but as an invisible ass settled atop Dean's thighs, as an invisible hole clenched around his dick, Dean had never been more aware of his ghost boyfriend, his ghost dom.

Cupping an invisible chin in both his hands, Dean risked Cas' ire by drawing him into a kiss. He expected a rebuke, or for Cas to vanish - how dare Dean take the lead, initiate, when they were in the midst of a scene - but instead Cas eased down, rain dripping across his ghostly back and onto Dean's chest, and sighed "Dean" into his mouth.

"Oh, Dean," Cas whispered again, pivoting his hips, lowering himself back down.

Rapture exploded through Dean. Cas was touching him, kissing him, the shape of a man moving and rocking above him, and for proof that Dean wasn't alone in feeling profoundly moved...Cas had said his name.

Cas  never did that during scenes.

Dean groaned, easing into another kiss, another, running his hands slick down Cas' sides.

"Fuck me, boy..."

Dean snapped. Grabbing hold of hips -  God, this is like normal sex, only better, so much better \- Dean thrust up from the ground, filling Cas. His dick disappeared into the open air where they were joined, Cas' hole mysteriously slick, magically perfect, as ideal as Cas hovering above him and giving him this chance to chase ecstasy.

A root ground into his shoulders and he didn't care; he shifted for better leverage and thrust up, thrust up, thrust up. He mapped Cas body with his hands, forcing his eyes to stay open so he could see, finally, the contours that accompanied what he felt. Beneath his gaze, beneath his eager touch, he mapped muscular shoulders, toned abs, and a scruffy chin. Locks of hair, somehow both dry and wet, tangled around his fingers. Cas was speaking, Dean was sure of it, and he hoped like hell that nothing he said was a command because Dean was beyond hearing, beyond caring about anything except the sultry tone of Cas' voice, the base rasp of Cas' arousal, and the tone of praise that drove him higher.

"Cas," he gasped. A frisson of fear zapped down to his toes, but Cas didn't rebuke him, and Cas didn't stop, no, he moaned, ethereal, and bounced down onto Dean's dick as Dean pushed up from the ground. "So good, holy shit..."

"Dean...oh, Dean..."

Dean's head banged against something solid, and through the water dewed in his eyelashes he could make out the gray sky, the gray angel statue, the leafy branches of trees, and the hovering halo made by Cas' hair. Cas reached above Dean's head and landed on rock - the solid something Dean had hit, the plinth supporting the angel - and, using that for leverage, Cas shifted, adjusted, took Dean further into himself and switched from bouncing to pivoting slow and sweet. Dean's vision dissolved into sparkles, and try as he might he couldn't open his eyes again, couldn't focus on anything except the pressure growing in his gut and the bliss billowing outward from where Cas used Dean's dick to seize pleasure.

"Almost like..." Cas groaned, bore down and rolled his hips forward. "...almost like I'm alive..."

How much does he feel when we have sex? Is that why he never does this normally? Why now? Why here?

"It's good, Dean," Cas whispered like a vow in his ear. "Being with you...it's incredible...I never imagined..."

Dean's exploring hands found the outline of a belly button, skimmed over the coarseness of pubic hair, and found Cas' invisible erection. Cas gasped, thrusting forward inadvertently as Dean clasped his cock.

Cas had never manifest a dick before, never manifest a mouth before, never had a body for Dean to interact with as he did now, and it was glorious, perfect, as divine as the angel smiling down at them.

"Are you ready, boy..." Cas swallowed the last word so suddenly Dean wasn't sure he'd heard right. "...Dean...will you come for me?"

He nodded frantically, chin bumping against Cas' shoulder. Cas thrust down, thrust forward, and Dean felt Cas orgasm in the clench of Cas' muscles, the quivering of his dick, the tremble of Cas' thighs straddling him. With a blissed out sigh, Dean followed, pressure within him giving way as he spurted come into Cas' invisible channel.

Something within Dean sublimated, transcended, and he lost himself in richoceting pleasure, twitching half-thrusts up, and the pitter-patter of rain on his skin.

"Thank you," breathed Cas, voice airy and distant, but his body remained solid, removing any fear that he might disappear. "I never thought...never dreamed...but with you, it's different. Here, it's different. Thank you, Dean..." He rolled down against Dean and Dean shuddered and moaned as overstimulation lit his brain up like the damn fourth of July. "Thank you...thank you...thank you..." he repeated the words into oblivion, into incomprehensibility. Cas slumped against him, still solid, and with more effort than he'd ever admit, Dean lifted an arm and wrapped it around Cas' shoulders, holding him close.

Nothing in their relationship had prepared Dean for this moment, and now that they'd shared this, he didn't think he'd ever be able to return to how things had been.

"What changed?" Dean dared to ask.

"The Memorial Garden..." Cas said, as if that explained it all. Dean's thoughts followed sluggishly, processing badly...the angel above him...the monuments to faculty of the past...

Holy shit.

"Is this your grave?" asked Dean in strangled tones.

Cas laughed sheepishly. "Uh...too weird?"

Yes, Dean's thoughts screamed immediate reply, but reflecting on the afternoon they'd just had...the planning Cas must have done to pull this off...the mindblowing sex they'd just shared...the incredible opportunity to touch and feel Cas...

"Just the right amount of weird," he said, smiling.

Cas' pleasure glowed like sunshine from the specter lying atop Dean.

"When can we do it again?" Dean added.

Cas chuckled. "Guess that depends. You'll have to be... very ...good. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"Anything for you," breathed Dean. He was kinda terrified to realize how profoundly he meant it, and hoped Cas didn't recognize his sincerity. How they’d proceed, a ghost and a person, over the years, after Dean finished college, was more reality than Dean could face. The post-coital afterglow was too precious. "Professor Novak...sir...Castiel...anything for you."


End file.
